


Hvitserk Drabbles

by EqualsTrashFlavoredTrash



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Dry Humping, F/M, Teasing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-28
Updated: 2019-01-20
Packaged: 2019-02-22 22:12:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13176276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EqualsTrashFlavoredTrash/pseuds/EqualsTrashFlavoredTrash
Summary: Drabbles and blurbs, often written to fill requests and prompts on tumblr. each chp is stand alone (unless otherwise stated)





	1. egg the viking

> _prompt: We’re hiding from the authorities and it’s very close quarters in here, I can feel your body against mine._

The sound of the cracking shell was deafening in the middle of the busy market. You froze where you stood in shock, arms stilled tangled with the prince’s from your attempts to stop him. For some reason he had got it into his head that the funniest thing he could do right now was throw an egg against the skull of the largest man he could spot.

You weren’t surprised by Hvitserk’s antics– he was a second born son with a younger brother who required lots of attention, acting out was part of who he was– but this time when the target around he quickly shouted, “It was her!” before bolting down the muddy street. You barely had a chance to think, immediately choosing to follow suit. The egged viking gave chase, lumbering his was after you.

Catching a fleeting wisp of Hvitserk’s tunic just ahead, you turned down the same street he did, hoping to lose the trail of the giant, pissed-off man. You were watching over your shoulder for signs of your pursuer when you blindly crashed into another body.

Hvitserk wrapped his arms around your shoulders, bracing for the collision and dragging you into the narrow alley behind the smithy. He held you tight between him and thatched wall, unnecessarily keeping a hand over your mouth. It wasn’t a moment later when the furious, egged man hurried past, completely oblivious to your hiding spot.

Hesitantly the mischievous prince lower his palm from where it cupped your jaw, though he still kept you pressed to the wall, his chest firm against your.

“You know,” he murmured in a low voice only you could hear, his breath tickling the skin before your ear as he spoke. “I’ve thought of another game we could play, something better than _Egg the Viking_.”


	2. Quaters

> _This wasn’t meant to be a date, but we’ve had such a good time and now it’s 2 a.m. and I should really go home and Hvitserk_

FIngering the gold coin, the young shieldmaiden studied the embossed depiction of the now deceased saxon king. Ælle was dead, blood eagled in the grove by the sons of Ragnar, and so now they and the Great Army were celebrating. The northmen then pillaged Ælle’s villa, taking whatever they pleased, especially anything shiny and gold. Easily manipulating the round metal disc in her hand, she balanced it along her bent index finger, tucking her thumb underneath. With a simple flick she released the tension in her hand, launching the coin through the air.

The light caught the rough lip, glinting as it spun over itself, tumbling towards it’s target. With a simple ‘plop’ the coin landed directly on point, into the bucket of saxon wine sat in the center of the table. A cheer went up from the small crowd around her as she turned to face her opponent. The Shieldmaiden didn’t need to say anything as she stood with her arms akimbo, the obvious victor. “Who’s next?” she called, laughing gaily while collecting the wagered spoils and watching the defeated Viking slump away, downtrodden at his loss.

“I’ll go,” a voice spoke, coming from another who nudged his way forward through the forest of shoulders, “But I have a different bet.” The green eyes of the middle Ragnarsson gleamed with mischief as he made an entrance and stared down the undefeated champion. He needed no introduction, everyone present knew who the young prince was.

“Careful, Hvitserk, she’s yet to miss once tonight,” an older, bearded fellow warned him, but the young man’s smirk didn’t falter.

“Well then, what’s your ante? What treasures are you willing to part with?” The Shieldmaiden challenge, eyeing him.

“No treasures,” he spoke with a smug expression, trusting the luck that had been with him to not falter in battle or drinking games. “Best of three. If you win then I will be your thrall for the night, answering you beck and call, catering to your every whim.”

Her brows shot up at the proposition, her interested piqued. “And if you win?” she prompted, folding her arms—obviously wary of what he would counter with.

“If I win, you must spend the entirety of the feast,”  he paused for dramatic effect while she shifted her weight from one foot to the other, jutting one hip out to the side, “Sitting on my lap.” A chuckle broke through the crowd at his terms, none of those watching surprised by Hvitserk’s antics.

She took a moment to weigh her options, certain he would not make such a bet if he didn’t have a plan to win. Still, if she backed down she would be shamed, and quite the number of spectators had gathered to witness the prince and her square off.

“Fine.” She quickly spat into her hand before holding it out to him. Hvitserk copied the gesture before clapping his palm with hers as they shook.

He went first, carelessly tossing the gold into the air. If this was extent of his method she was sure to beat him. It should’ve landed just short of the goal, but miraculous the gold hit the lip of the bucket, changing the trajectory so it dropped into the wine.

With a grumble she gathered the small pile of saxon gold infront of her—all spoils from earlier challenges—and readied her first shot. Carefully lining up the foreign coin, she tried to ignore the audience pressing closer behind her, each vying for a better view, along with the way Hvitserk stood next to her, near enough she could feel his body heat. She exhaled through her nose and flicked the coin into the air. It was not her best shot—she should’ve arched it higher—but still it fell in the bucket.

She turned to him, quirking the corner of her mouth up and challenging him with her eyes. In a lackadaisical gesture, the prince drew another coin before giving a careless wave of his hand, all while keeping his eyes on her. They both knew it made it by the sound. She could barely believe it though she could easily see the ripples on the surface circling outwards. There was a flurry of hushed excitement through the crowd around them—some even making their own bets on the outcome—as she pivoted away from Hvitserk.

Determination set over her as she went for her second try. Her skill had to outweigh his luck, she knew what she was doing. Again her coin flew over the wooden rim of the bucket and landed with ease.

They were tied. Their spectators waited with baited breath, eager to know who would be the victor. Hvitserk actually appeared to make an attempt for the last round. The coin went in all the same, just as easily as it had before..

It was her final chance. If she missed this then he’d win and she’d be obligated to warm his lap for the evening. The space around her felt suffocating now, caused by both the eager onlookers crowding in and her opponent who stood so close now she could feel his breath ghosting over the skin of her cheek. She did her best to block out the distractions and ready her aim, but just as she released her thumb, she felt a sharp pain in her left but cheek. Jerking in surprise, she sent the coin flying in the wrong direction, yards away from the bucket of wine.

“You fucking—!” the Shieldmaiden roared as she spun on her heel to slap the prince. He reacted on instinct, easily catching her wrists before her palms could make contact as he laughed with the men surrounding them. “You cheated! You pinched my ass!” she screamed at him over the noise while struggling to free her arms.

“Still, you missed.” Hvisterk grinned, the majority of those around the pair seemed to agree. He eventually released her hands, and she glared at him through her lashes.

“Fine. I will see you at the feast,” she spat before collecting her winnings and storming off.

——-

From the moment she entered the grand hall, she could feel his eyes on her like a magnet. It was obvious she would had no respite from him in the foreseeable future. Dropping her gaze to the stone floor, she trudged past the never ending long tables before arriving at the head table.

The oak table lined with Ragnar’s sons was situated where Ælle’s throne had been, the floor slightly raised above the rest of the landing. In the center, facing the hall was Bjorn—the oldest. At the end furthest from where she sat was Ivar, with Ubbe to his left. To Bjorn’s right sat Sigurd, who seemed preoccupied with his instrument as his fingers spent more time on the strings than his food. Finally, directly in front of where she stood, at the foot of the tabe was the middle prince. Hvitserk couldn’t control his grin as he held a hand out for her to take.

The Shieldmaiden was positive everyone in the hall knew about their wager by now and were watching to see what would happen. Reluctantly she accepted his hand, and lowered herself to rest just on his knees, as far down on his lap she could get. She propped her chin upon her palm, resting her elbow on the table and facing Sigurd.

She sipped at her endless cup of ale—any time she was close to the bottom a thrall was quick to replenish—as she spent most of the night talking and singing with her seat’s younger brother. Though Hvitserk tried to keep her attention with teasing touches, or letting his fingers drift north under her tunic. Still, she did her best to ignore him, mindlessly swatting away his wandering hands like flies.

The more she drank the more she eased into Hvitserk. Shifting slightly in his lap every now and then, slowly inching away from the table, closer towards his chest.

The Shieldmaiden was feeling the weight of the ale in her eyelids by the time Floki was commanding the attention of the room. The boat builder stood at the fire, his gangly anatomy appearing all the more skeleton with the harsh illumination of the flames.

In the dimly lit corner of the room she settled into her seat, reclining to rest her head on Hvitserk’s shoulder while adjusting her hips against his.

The Prince was quick to grab hold of her waist, halting her motions and hissing a warning in her ear, “Careful with that.”

“Oh?” she teased, her voice registering in a lower, drunken timber. Lifting her chin she let her lips tickle his ear while her words dance over his skin as she nuzzled into his neck. Tempting her luck, she raised one arm to lace her fingers into the roots of his braids. Curling her hand she pulled at his hair, and pushed her hips back, letting out an airy gasp when she felt the breadth of his erection against her ass through the leather.

“Fuck,” he hissed, quiet enough so only she could hear while his hands snaked their way under her tunic. Every set of eyes in the room—even those of Sigurd next to them—where trained forwards the storyteller, paying no mind to the way she rutted against Hvitserk in his chair. One of his hands finally found its way under her tunic to her breast, palming at the soft and malleable tissue as his finger tips teased her nipple. She continued to shift, rubbing her bottom against him while his other hand dug into the flesh on her hips hard enough he was sure to leave a bruise.

She could feel Hvitserk panting against her neck as she let her head lull back onto his shoulder, giving him leeway to guide her hips as he wished. Muffling his groan in her skin, he bit at her shoulder. The Shieldmaiden could tell from the way he shuddered against her he had reached his climax.

Staying still for a moment, the pair basked in the rhythmic pattern of each other’s deep breathing. After a moment she managed to gather her strength, sitting upright to stretch her arms. “It’s so late, I should get going,” she announced innocuously to the table, moving to rise.

None of the other brothers seemed to notice—or care—when Hvitserk yanked the girl back into his lap trapping her so he could hiss in her ear, “The only place you’re going is to my bed.”

 


	3. Should I Stay or Should I go?

> My request: Hvitserk loves the reader but also desires margarethe and he has to choose between them both (reader is a shieldmaiden) Thank you sooooo much !

You stood a few rows back, en mass with the other vikings as Ivar sat upon the boulder and shouted, “You see Ubbe? Everyone is with me!” You ached from the tension in your body as you watched the small crew of men still loyal to the oldest Ragnarsson prepare the ship to sail back to Kattegat. 

There was one man in particular you couldn’t take your eyes off of. Hvitserk, the Ragnarsson caught between his brothers, who you had fallen in love with during his nightly visits to your bed. He handed off crates, helping to stock the ship but you could tell, even from this distance, that he was doing everything he could to not look back at the grassy river bank. Your stomach clenched and tears stung the backs of your eyes as you tried not to recall your argument from the evening before. 

Though you had slept in his arms every night for the better half of a month, you didn't think twice when he failed to show up. It wasn’t until later, when one of your friends woke you up and urged you to dress and hurry to the main hall, that you began to question his absence. While wedging your way through the crowd you were able to pick up bits of information from overheard conversations. Apparently Ubbe and Hvitserk had returned in the middle of the night, bloodied and shamed, from the opposition’s camp only to be further humiliated by their younger brother. 

It was impossible to tear your eyes away as Ivar publicly berated his siblings for defying him. “You made a bad call!” he barked at them and you couldn’t help but agree. You had chosen to follow Ivar, trusting his leadership after the victories his strategies had brought. In your time spent alone with Hvitserk you’d never once discussed politics. Mostly because you were both too preoccupied to actually talk--but still you had no idea of his leanings or that he would do something like this. 

He shifted in his seat giving you got a clear view of his bloody profile. You winced at the sight, wanting nothing more than to rush forward to coo over him and clean his wounds but you stayed still, feet planted to the stone underfoot. You watched and he and his brother rose from their seats, looking equally furious beneath their wounds as they stormed out of the hall. 

Hvitserk paid you no mind as he passed, not even looking back then his shoulder checked yours. 

Once you had a chance, you sped off to one of the former Saxon King’s many lavish bedrooms that you knew Hvitserk had claimed. The heavy oak door was left ajar and you could hear movement on the other side. You called his name quietly, hesitantly pushing open the door just wide enough to slip through.    
Hvitserk stood from where he’d been crouched on the floor gathering his few possessions and sighed, letting his head fall back as you crossed the room to wrap your arms his middle from behind. You pressed your cheek against his shoulder blade as you felt familiar calluses rubbing over the back of your hands.

“What were you thinking?” you questioned while nuzzling against his spine. Hvitserk’s hands dropped from yours before he abruptly stepped away, twisting out of your grasp so he could turn to face you. 

“Not you too,” he hissed, shaking his head while looking at you with a disdainful light in his eye. 

“It was a stupid idea! They could’ve killed you!” Taking two steps forward you curled your fingers into the wool of his sleeve, trying to draw him back towards you. He merely shrugged, freeing his elbow and returned to packing. 

His simple rejection made your blood boil. You couldn’t help but snap at him with tears in your eyes, “So what? You’re just going to go back to Kattegat?” If you were thinking more rationally you most likely would not have continued to verbalize your train of thought but you were pissed, and the words crossed your lips before you could really consider what you were saying. “You’re going back to that whore?” 

This caught his attention. His head snapped towards you, looking over his shoulder as you inched closer to him. “She’s your brother’s wife!” You weren’t sure where this flood of emotion was exactly coming from, though you never liked that he had shared Margrethe with Ubbe in the past, the fact of it had not important to you. Now though, the thought of him leaving you and returning to her drove you mad. “Any child she has will be Ubbe’s, you know! Not yours, even if you are the father! You know that, don’t you?” you wailed before slapping a weak fist against his chest.

Hvitserk’s jaw clenched as he watched the tears streaming down your cheeks, catching your wrists to keep you from striking him again. 

“I love you,” you whispered before taking a shuddering breath, gathering your strength to say it again, louder. “I love you, Hvitserk. I don’t know when it happened but I know that I do.”

You kept your eyes forward, watching the lump in his throat bob before he opened his mouth. “I think you should go.”

With a firm shake of your head chased away the vivid memory of his conflicted look while asking you to leave. You forced your mind back to the present, where you stood among your fellow warriors in the tall grass. With a deep breath you focused yourself, remembering you were a brick in the strong wall that was the great army. You were part of a whole and if you were weak, the entire structure was weak.

Stealing your expression, you looked forward, taking deep, even breathes and fighting to keep the threatening flood of emotions at bay. Suddenly, while Ivar snapped about his rightful position as leader, Hvitserk finally looked back. His eyes locked with yours in an instant and you saw every thought flooding through his mind. Breaking the contact with you, he looked back to Ubbe. With a heavy sigh Hvitserk turned around and climbed back onto the dock,  walking away as his older brother watched on in anguish. 

You could feel the smug energy radiating from Ivar as Hvitserk trekked back to the land, keeping his head down, but you didn't care. Elbowing your way through the wall of Vikings, you rushed forward, breaking through the crowd to fling yourself at him. 

He returned your tight embrace, kissing at your temple before whispering in your ear, “I love you, too.”


	4. Just a Quick Dip

It happened by accident.

You’d been walking along the path in the woods with your friend, chatting idly as you made your way towards the grove to pick berries. There was a small window when they’d be perfectly ripe and abundant and both of you were excited to take advantage of that. Each of you carried two empty baskets, thinking more about the fruit they would hold than your surroundings when a bark of laughter rang through the leaves and caught your attention.

Knowing you were near a popular swimming spot, where the river deepend just before the rocky falls, your friend eagerly shuffled through the bushes, trying to spy on who had broken the quiet of the woods while you hissed that this was wrong. Ignoring your protests, she carefully peeled back the branches of the bush. Crouching, she giggled to herself at the sight before her, urging you to join. Blowing a huff of air you decided to humor her, and crawled on your knees to rest beside her.

You weren’t sure what you had expected exactly, but it was definitely not a clear view of the Ragnarsons bathing. Your hand flew to cover your mouth, stifling your gasp as you took in the view. They were all nude and joking around, splashing water at each other in competition.

Pulling back you faced your friend. “We shouldn’t watch,” you exclaimed, trying to keep your voice hushed. Ignoring your words, your friend grinned, taking in the sight with joy.

“Look, look,” she urged, pulling your shoulder flush with hers. Peering through the gap in the branches you watched as Hvitserk fought off Sigurd and succeeded in climbing on top of the boulder in the center of the river. Standing on the peak that just barely crested out of the calm current, he pumped his arms celebrating his success and proudly exclaiming he was the king.

Your jaw dropped as you watched him rise from the water, seeing every detail of his form. Watching the droplets roll from his shoulders down his chest, through the sparse body hair that lead your eyes like magnets down his abdomen. Gnawing on your lip, you could feel your throat going dry at the sight, but still you spoke. “This is wrong, we shouldn’t be spying. Hvitserk is my friend,” you insisted though you continued to unabashedly study his improvised victory dance.

“I know you two grew up together,” your friend replied in a chiding tone as she nudged your side with her elbow. “But suddenly, I want to be good friends with him, too.”

So enthralled with the sight before you, you absently pivoted where you sat. Shifting onto your knees, you didn't notice the branch before you, until it snapped under your weight. While the sound was not prominent, it was still enough that all of the boys’ heads whipped around to look in your direction.

Cursing under your breath, you and your friend scrambled to your feet. Meanwhile, Ubbe gave a commanding nod of his chin to Hvitserk, who still a top the boulder, was closest to the bushes you’d been hiding in. He waded to the shore, climbing over the grass on the river bank to poke his head through the branches.

Hvitserk smiled to himself when he spotted the recognizable pattern of your favorite skirt weaving past the tree trunks as you made your escape.

“There’s no one here. I think it was just a critter,” he called to his brothers as he emerged from the bush. The others relaxed at the news, enjoying the warm water as Hvitserk started to plot how he would get you back.

 

“Did something happen?” your mother asked as you burrowed further under the blankets, refusing to leave the cabin. “Normally you jump at any chance to go to the Great Hall and see Hvitserk. Did he do something to you? Is this something I should know about?”

“No-oo, Mama,” you groaned into your pillow, wanting to shut your eyes and block out your mother’s worried expression,though also fearing the image you’d see inside your eyelids if you did. In the week since you had been by the riverside, you found yourself constantly plagued by the sight and thought of your oldest friend naked.

If you had your way, you’d still be up in the field, harvesting berries--at least that kept your mind occupied. But once the sun dipped below the tree line, your friend began to complain about the bugs and the cold, which eventually annoyed you into returning home. Then, in the following days, your subconscious constantly drifted off without prompting.

You day dreamed of a warm breeze and the sound of waves gently lapping at the shore as you laid in the long grass next to Hvitserk. The sun warming your exposed skin, as he runs his hand up your side--from your hip to your ribs--at a lackadaisical pace. Savoring his touch and the way the texture of his palm, speckled with callouses from handling weapons, tickles at your skin--

“If nothing happened then I don’t see why you need to mope around in bed,” your mother stated, jerking you back from your infectious fantasy. “You’re being silly and I will not tolerate it.”

Though your father had died while raiding when you were a just baby, his friendship and loyalty to King Ragnar had earned your family a permanent place at his table. Feasts were a regular event your mother always made an effort to attend. When you were younger the gatherings never excited you, but still you would join her in hopes to spend the evening running around and having fun as you wreaked havoc with the princes inside the crowded hall.

“Fine, fine,” you grumbled, lifting your head only to find your mother’s exasperated expression. It didn't take long for you to get ready, making so little effort as to merely pull on a clean frock. Your mother fussed over your hair, pulling it back into a pair of neat braids so you’d look somewhat presentable.

Upon entering the hall, you quickly took a seat that was tucked away in a dark corner, hoping to suffer through the night alone. It appeared that was not what would happen. The moment you crossed the threshold, Hvitserk spotted you. He watch as you retreated from the crowd before gathering a second horn, impatient to talk to you.

“Hey,” he said, taking a seat in the empty stool to your left. He set one drink on the table before you as an unspoken offering. Out of reflex you reached for the cup, protecting it from the elbow of the large viking who sat next to you, though faced away.

“I haven’t seen you around lately,” Hvitserk continued despite your lack of response. “I’ve been looking,” he added, nudging his knee against yours under the table.

Your eyes shot open at the comment, looking up to finally notice the smirk that rested so casually on his lips.

“Hey,” he cooed in a low voice as he leaned it. “I know you saw us all at the river.” Hvisterk gave you a wink which only served to set your cheeks aflame. “It’s ok,” he added, watching your expression. “I didn't tell my brothers, they have no idea.”

At a complete loss of what to do next you lifted the horn of ale to your lips and chugged down the remaining contents. Hvitserk bit his bottom lip, enjoying your flustered reaction.

While you were distracted by your drink, Hvitserk slid his right hand to his lap. He waited until you lowered your cup before letting his palm languidly snake down his thigh, towards were his knee brushed against your leg under the table.

“You know,” he began as his fingers first made contact. You were hyper away of his touch, growing more flushed as he moved to cup the top of your knee. “If you wanted to learn how to play King of the Rock, I’d be happy to give you a private lesson.” Hvitserk’s voice was low and husky as he made the proposition, speaking only loud enough for you to hear.

“Really?” you squeaked out, unintentionally high-pitched. He smiled, eyes locked on yours, holding your attention in an invisible vice while his grip tensed around your upper thigh.

“There’s no one I’d rather play with.”

The nervous gulp you took was more than audible to him over the din of revlevery that filled the room.

“When-when would be the first lesson?” you questioned, still not believing his offer.

Hvitserk scanned casually over his shoulder towards the open doors and windows. “It’s a warm night. We could start now, if you’d like,” he offered, drawing his eyes back to you at a painfully languid pace.

Once your gazes connected you could no longer suppress your grin. “Okay.” If your response was overly eager, Hvitserk did not notice.

His hand flew from its resting place on your thigh to clasp your own. His fingers twisted between your knuckles as he excitedly pulled you from your seat. You couldn’t help but giggle as you trailed behind him, nearly skipping with joy as you followed his lead.


	5. Hvitserk the Cannibal

It was the witching hour in the middle of the night—around 2 am—when the last few still awake sat around the kitchen table discussing something deep and weird.   
  
That’s where you were now with Ivar and Hvitserk. Ubbe had left the bar first after catching the eye of some tall blonde. Sigurd never even showed up. The three of you hung out in the booth doing shots before eventually calling an uber back to the brother’s shared apartment. Sipping at some light beer that had been floating in the fridge, you fought to make a point, not worried how absurd the subject was.   
  
“Ok yeah, if Ivar was a fictional serial killer he’d be Lector, just ‘cus the cold disposition and surgical accuracy,” you countered while holding up your open hand to keep Hvitserk from continuing. “But if we’re talking real life serial killers, I’d say Hodel—The Black Dahlia killer.” You took a sip, waiting for him to challenge you but Hvitserk stayed quite. “He had the surgical awareness, like in the cuts and draining the blood but I also think Ivar would go for ‘Hollywood beauties’, mutilating them like some kind of commentary.” You finished, before looking to your left, adding with a sheepish grin, “No offense, Ivar.”   
  
Ivar just smirked, shrugging as he took a sip of his drink, “None taken, I think you make a good point, actually.”   
  
“See!” You nearly shouted, looking back to Hvitserk.   
  
You expected him to continue contesting the idea but instead he quirked his eyebrow and asked, “How about me then?” as he leaned forward on his elbows.   
  
“You’d be like Ted Bundy, into eating people.”   
  
“Oh yeah, I’m totally into cannibalism,” Hvitserk scoffed, rolling his eyes as he shifted to lean back in his chair.   
  
“Really?” you posed, smiling as you catch him watching you from the corner of his eye. “You’re always offering to eat me.”   
  
The elder of the two present brothers perked up at that comment, smirking to himself, “Does this mean you’re taking me up on the offer?”   
  
“Ok, I’m out,” Ivar suddenly announced. Gathering his crutches, he let the metal bang against the table legs more than necessary just to make as much disruptive noise as possible before leaving the pair of you alone.


	6. Play AU

“I-- I never--,” you gasped, so close your lips just barely brushed against his. Hvitserk kept one arm around your middle, holding you tight against his chest as he let out heavy, panting breaths through his nose that tickled your cheek. “ I never thought I'd fall in love with a werewolf,” you finally admitted, loud enough for everyone to hear as you grabbed his jaw with both hands. Jerking his head forward you caught his lips in a passionate kiss until the curtains fell.

Once the stage was dark you broke away, hurrying to the left wing where a stagehand shoved a bouquet into your arms and worked at fixing your smudged lipstick before applying a fresh layer. You could see the lights rising out of the corner of your eye as the chorus and background actors filed out, bowing and then retreating to the side. Once it was your turn the stagehand twisted you by the shoulders and gave a gentle push. You fell into character as you stepped on stage, giving your brightest smile as you approached Hvitserk in the middle. Once you met at the mark, you leaned up to give him a kiss on the cheek, leaving a bright red mark.

Stepping back, he held his hands out towards you, directing the cheers as you curtsied. Returning the gesture you let him take a bow before clasping hand and bowing together. You barely paid attention to the practiced movements, stepping forward to join the line and applauding for the musicians in the pit. 

It wasn't until the curtains dropped for second time that you finally felt like you could breathe. You took a moment, coming back to reality after the performance when Hvitserk approached you. He still wore his prosthetic mussel and you couldn't help but grin to yourself at how fitting the costume was for the over grown puppy. 

“So about that kiss,” he began, crossing his arms as you worked on digging out the dozens of bobby pins that held your wig in place.

“I’ve told you before and I’ll tell you again, Hvitserk,” you stated, tugging off the hair piece to hand off to someone from costume. “It’s just acting.” 

“That was more than acting,” he challenged, following you to your dressing room. 

You stopped him in the doorway, one arm akimbo with a fist on your hip as you met his eyes. “It was just acting. Now go wash your makeup off. I’ll see you at the after party.” With that you shut the door in his face.

Sitting at your vanity you couldn’t help but sigh as you pulled out a cleansing wipe. Yes, you were relieved it was the final show, but still there was a part of you that was sad you no longer had a reason to make out with your co-star eight times a week. 


End file.
